Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“You know why, Keats.” When her shoulders soften, the corners of her eyes drag down with them. “How would that be standing on my own two feet?” She turns, anchoring a foot to the floor to push off the bed, but I catch her by the arm. “Please don’t leave because this conversation is uncomfortable.”
Relaxing her back, she says, “I’m not leaving because I can’t have this conversation. I was only going to get your medication.”
I glance at the time. Yep, three minutes until the alarm goes off. “I’m an ass. Sorry.”
“Are you sorry you’re an ass or because you assumed the worst?”
Shrugging, I try for lighthearted, hoping I didn’t just majorly screw this up. I want her to trust me, not think I’m one of the others demanding something from her. “Both.”
Half of one of her smiles is still worth millions to me. She stands and says, “It’s okay. I’ll be right back.”
Left to my own devices, my thoughts wander to the emails I have piling up in my inbox, the missed miles I haven’t run, or the weights I’ll have to build up to lifting again once I’m healed. Instead of worry, a wash of gratitude overwhelms me in quieter moments like these. I rest my head back, staring out the window as a grin pops into place. I did it. I got a book deal. Although it’s not new news, I don’t think I’ve had a genuine moment to celebrate. I reach for my phone on the nightstand and text Professor Johns:
Assaulted and mugged in the subway, but recovering, and I got a book deal.
Figure it’s worth getting everything out upfront so we can talk about the other, more important stuff like the deal.
My phone pings:
What the hell, Keats? Are you okay?
I reply:
Can’t say I haven’t been better, but I’ve probably been worse off as well. I’ll live. And I have money from the advance to use as bandages. So yeah, I’m good.
The daze of devastation I wandered in for months after Sosie ghosted me was far worse. At least with bruises, there’s an expectation of healing to follow. With her—no word, no explanation, no nothing left me feeling hollow for years.
He texts:
This is a lot for text. I have some free time in a few hours. How about I stop by?
He’s always been more of a conversationalist than I am. I prefer text, but it’s him, so I reply:
Sure thing. Just buzz when you’re here, and I’ll let you in.
I set the phone down just before Sosie walks in with a tray I didn’t know I had. When she sets it on the bed next to me, I study the clockwork of items placed on it. Orange juice at one. Water at two. An English muffin at four and butter and jelly at six. My stomach growls so loud when I spot the Andes Mint sitting at nine o’clock that Sosie asks, “I have a whole box if you want them?”
I take the green-packaged chocolate, grinning like a kid who just got candy . . . I laugh because it feels like I just scored a touchdown, if my school had a team and I had played football. “I used to think these were candies that rich people ate.”
“We do.” She laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“When I was ten, I’d bought chocolate bars at the bodega with a bulk discount I’d wrangled out of the owner. I went around selling them near Park Avenue to raise money for new sneakers. Figured I’d hit the wealthier neighbors since they had money to spare. They didn’t in my neighborhood.” She settles in next to me against the headboard as she has nowhere else to be, more important than here with me. The warmth of her presence isn’t only felt in the proximity. It’s found in the touch of her nails, gently scraping through the hair above my ear. “What kind of sneakers?”
“The white, black, and red low-top Jordans. I probably would have gotten my ass kicked and had them stolen, but I just wanted them.”
Her eyes travel across the room to stare into her own memories. “Those were always so cool. I had pink and white ones.”
I sink into the gulf of peace she brings me and then take her other hand in mine to bring to my lips and kiss. Still holding it, I continue, “I walked by some five-star restaurant where the opera crowd was gathering to have dinner. They were dressed in tuxes and long dresses. The women were wearing lots of jewelry. Anyway, I talked a few of the ladies into buying, who then told their husbands to chip in to buy me out. I’d hit the jackpot. I walked away sold out, a hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket, and one of the women had given me her after-dinner mint.” I hold it up. “Just like this.”